An Ordinary Day
by RuthanneReid
Summary: The Clamp Campus Detectives handle cases of all kinds and flavors - but how will they and 20 Masks deal with a cursed knife?
1. Part One

"Akira! Suoh! To me, to me!" Posing on the overturned fire hydrant, Nokoru gestured in classic hero stance toward the sky. Rain splashed invitingly over his skin; his lashes darkened by the downpour, he stood, his eyes locked onto some distant and glorious future and his mouth set in a perfect line of determination.

For a moment, no one moved. 

Akira suddenly clapped his hands together and squealed, bouncing on his toes. "Oh, Nokoru sempai!" he gushed, and ran forward to stand behind Nokoru with admiration. 

Suoh sighed. "All he's missing is a blood-stained scimitar," he muttered, and obediently traipsed forward to stand behind Nokoru with considerably less elan. 

With perfect timing, a branch of lightning split the sky, silhouetting the three boys like ancient gods on a high mountain. 

"Oh, Nokoru-sama!" cried one girl, and that set the rest of them off. "Oh, Suoh-sama!" "Oh, he's so CUTE can you believe - " " - so YOUNG to be heroes we owe them EVERY - " " - I can't BELIEVE they found the jewels so soon!"

Nokoru never missed a chance for melodrama, and this one was a real winner. There were twelve - count them, _twelve_ - fine examples of the female of the species who'd been endangered by this particular mystery, and Nokoru was clearly reaching previously unseen heights of glory. Naturally, all of them were fawning.

Fawning or not, they sounded like a flock of squalling chickens, at least to Suoh's ears. Embarrassed, he covered his face and muttered. Akira, on the other hand, seemed to have succumbed.

"Nokoru-senpai, you're so marvelous!" he shouted right along with them, and Suoh stifled a gut-deep sigh.

Nokoru wasn't helping. "I could never have done it without... " - the mental drum roll was nearly palpable - "Suoh Takamura, grade five, student government secretary and Clamp School Detective!"

The cheers were deafening. 

Of course, Nokoru was not finished. "And Akira Ijyuin, grade four, student government treasurer and Clamp School Detective extraordinaire!"

The last description had been added more for the benefit of Nokoru's audience than his accomplices, but Akira took it highly personally.

"Oh, Nokoru-sempai," he breathed with tears in his eyes, and Suoh once again rubbed his face and muttered. 

At least the mystery had been solved.

* * *

Hours passed before the three fledgling detectives freed themselves from the crowd and finally made it to the crossroads leading to their separate homes. By this time, all three of them had been completely soaked through; naturally any coats, umbrellas, and tax reports had been sacrificed to spare the heads of the pretty girls-in-waiting, and thus, the walk back had been as wet as it was cold.

Nokoru peeled off down the north sidewalk toward his family's local mansion. "Night, guys. See you tomorrow at lunch." He sneezed.

"Tomorrow at nine a.m., you mean," Suoh shot back, wiping his nose. "And take some vitamin C!"

"Oh - nine, right," said Nokoru absently, and sneezed again. "See you then!" He fled without another word.

Akira gazed after him with adoration and wonder, and Suoh waited patiently until the count of ten before abandoning hope that the trance would fix itself.

"Nine?" Suoh finally asked, his tone the only thing about him that was dry.

"Huh? Oh, of course, Takamura-sempai!" Akira exclaimed, and then waved enthusiastically. He looked like he was about a hair's breadth from giving Suoh a hug. "Good night! Good night!" he cried, trotting down the east sidewalk toward his own home and waving behind him the whole way. Suoh half expected him to crash into a signpost.

"Vitamin C. Vitamin C!" he shouted after Akira, not quite sure if the younger boy heard him or not. He sighed. "Good night," he said at last, under his breath, and sneezed; and with that, slipped down the south sidewalk toward his own home. 

Nokoru arrived home last. Humming happily to himself, he carefully stowed the momentos given to him by his various female fans of the evening, then took a luxurious bath and went to bed.

Suoh arrived home second. Solitary and grim, he bid his family hello, worked his way through two katas, took some Vitamin C, and then also went to bed - before Nokoru did, ironically enough. He was up again by six the next morning.

Akira arrived hom before the other two did, but in the end, it didn't really help him. The moment he walked in the door, chaos wrapped around him like a shrunken sweater.

"Akiraaaaa!" two women dressed in dinosaur costumes cried at once, and with no further warning, they both pounced him.

A romp of giggles resulted, puncuated by much tickling and exclamations of that particular breed of joy that only comes from family members who love each other. By the time they were finished, Akira was a mess, and both dinosaur costumes had been discarded in the corner.

"Akira-chan, we're hungry!" "Yes, you've been gone so long - we're so hungry!" they both whined, one after another, and gasping, leapt to his feet.

"Oh, no! It's so late, I'm SO sorry, I forgot!"

His mothers gave him puppy-dog eyes.

"I... I'll make cake! I'll make you lots of chocolate cake! I'm so sorry, I won't forget again!" Akira exclaimed, and rushing to don his apron, hurried into the kitchen and began baking. 

He cooked for the next two hours; a feast with seven courses was the least he could do for his parents, at least in his own mind, and so after he finished and they finished, he had another two hours' worth of cleaning up. It was nearly midnight when he finally, finally hung his abused apron on the peg by the door and wandered back out toward his bedroom. 

Mother A attacked him. "Look! LOOK, it's so lovely - "

"Ack! What?" Akira jumped, and blinked when a full color magazine article was thrust in his face.

"Isn't it beaaaaaaautiful?" crooned Mother B, and Akira pushed the magazine a couple of inches away from his nose so he could focus.

A sword splashed elegantly across a two-page spread, glinting sharply in the whatever artificial light the photographer had provided. The design was absurdly intricate; its guard - at least, from what he could see in this picture - seemed to be the horns of a red-eyed creature, the body of which twisted to create the elongated hilt. Wirey, lined striations crisscrossed it at various intervals, and a red jewel dominated both the pommel and shoulder. The whole thing gave him the willies.

"You... you want _that_?" he choked, staring at the eye-jewels that seemed to stare back even from a 2-D photograph. 

"Eh? Oh, yes, eventually, but we don't want that _today_. Today, we want _this!_" Mother B pointed at another image which Akira had not noticed, a small one, thumbnailed in a vertical list of thumbnails down one side. 

It was just an ordinary dagger.

_Whew_, Akira thought, snatching the magazine for reference before his mothers could spot something else they wanted and change their mind. "It says it's at the museum," he noted, reading the tiny side panel.

"Yes, and it's a MURDER one!" Mother A squealed with delight, and both women hugged each other and jumped up and down.

Akira scratched his head. "Does it have to be now?"

"Tomorrow, you have to get it tomorrow!" Mother A exclaimed. "Yes, because they'll be taking it to China tomorrow in the afternoon, so you have to get it in the morning," added Mother B.

"The morning?" asked Akira, slightly hollow-eyed.

"Here!" Mother B said, and thrust another piece of paper into Akira's face. Blinking, he leaned back and eyed it.

_Tomorrow at 6:00am, 20 Masks will appropriate the Hisamitsu Dagger from the CLAMP campus museum._

Akira stared. "But - "

"We delivered it this morning after you were gone, so don't worry, I'm sure the police know!"

"But - "

"Oooh, you look so TIRED, Akira-chan! Go to bed, go to bed and sleep so you can get our - " a squeal - "Dagger of BLOOD!" 

"But - "

"No arguments! Off you go!" And with that, both mothers hurried him down the hall and to his room. Biding no protests, they stripped him, bathed him, re-clothed him in very warm and snuggly pajamas, and tucked him into bed. 

"Good night! Good night!" they cried, and shut the door behind them. And in the wake of silence, Akira lay and stared at the ceiling, wishing he'd had more time to plan and more time to sleep. 6am was only five hours away.

_But there's no helping it... they want it, and I love them, so the only thing I can do is get it for them._

With no other options in his eyes, Akira rose from his bed, padded to his small desk, and began sketching out a plan.


	2. Part Two

The CLAMP campus museum was an edifice of marble and gold, carved into existence by men who'd studied too much Ionic and Corinthian architecture for their own good. Dully, it gleamed in the streetlights, while long, slender banners hanging above each entranceway and limply advertised exhibits of blood.

Halloween was only a month away, and someone had conceived the crazy idea to commemorate famous murders throughout history to celebrate. Naturally, the exhibits had been heavily advertised and featured on local news broadcasts and magazines, which would be where Mother B had first seen the blade. 

They'd been going on about it yet again that morning. 

_"Oh, I can't wait until you get that for us, darling Akira!"_

_"Yes, oh yes, it's just PERFECT - so shiny!"_

_"Shiny...."_

Shiny. The reflections of the street lights in puddles of water and the tops of his shoes were shiny, too, but not nearly as sharp. Breathing quietly, Akira peered down from his rooftop post and made sure he knew where each of the police-officers-in-wait were positioned before making his move. Reaching up to grab the rip cord he'd attatched between the buildings earlier that morning, he gripped the handles tightly and jumped.

He made no more sound than an ordinary zipper as he flew over the heads of his would-be captors and straight onto the second-floor balcony of the museum. There was no time to waste; sneaking down the hallway, he approached the "haunted blades" exhibit, and as he went, he reviewed the history he'd learned regarding the particular dagger his mothers wanted him to steal. 

On Sept 4, 1862, Shimazu Hisamitsu, daimyo of Satsuma, was on his way to Edo. Naturally, it was not permissible for anyone to overtake this procession, at least not without the proper forms of obeisance - but one Charles Richardson, a British merchant, was apparently unaware of this. Ignorantly, he had passed the party without so much as a bow; and immediately, he was killed. 

There were guns used, of course; Hisamitsu was a very technologically advanced leader for his day and age. However, in the end, legend had it that a particular ancient blade had caused the death of the British merchant, and that blade - theoretically - was on display right now. It was also what Mothers A and B so dearly wanted.

It was ironic, Akira thought as he crept along the hall, that the death of that one foreign man led to the designation of the Hinomaru as the official Japanese national flag. 

The Richardson Affair, as the incident came to be known, sparked war with England the very next year; and since the shogunate had ruled in 1853 that all Japanese ships were to fly the Hinomaru - a red dot centered on a white background - the British believed it to be the official flag of Japan. That belief simply spread from there.

"Like yeast," the boy said lightly to himself, and paused to peek out a window and make sure the police were still outside. 

Only the still-pouring rain moved; lawmen stood, sopping, looking for trouble and completely unaware that trouble had already missed them. Satisfied, 20 Masks slipped inside the exhibit room.

* * *

_"It's a fascinating blade, isn't it? They're utterly sure it was Hisamitsu's - and to think that they found it again in 1983 when that teenage couple murdered that taxi driver. But the real mystery is this: even though it was listed and described among their possessions at the time of their arrest, when the prosecutors tried to use it as evidence later, it had disappeared!" _

_Nokoru spoke in whispers, but his words still carried; pressed eagerly around him were the young girls who'd volunteered to come on the field trip. All of them were taking notes._

_"How can they possibly tell where that knife has been? It's not exactly inscribed," Suoh commented dryly, arms crossed._

_Nokoru looked delightfully menacing. "As a matter of fact, Suoh, my friend, this knife IS inscribed - with curses of blood and demons and nightmares, meant for the evil magic it weilded!" _

_There was the requisite number of "ooh's" and "aah's;" Suoh raised his eyebrow. _

_Nokoru continued. "Of course, to avoid scam, they've dated it, too; I've read the reports. There's no question it's from Hisamitsu's era, and given the inscription, it was the kind of blade used by his family."_

_A pause. Most students were frantically scribbling down what Nokoru said, and the rest were gazing at him worshipfully; naturally, Akira fit solidly with the latter._

_"Wow," he said, leaning a little toward his tour guide. "How do you know all this, Class Chairman?"_

_Nokoru smiled. "A little knowledge never hurt anyone, Akira. And as a matter of fact," he said, immediately regaining the attention of his entourage. "This knife was RUMORED to be partially responsible for the madness of Shoko Asahara."_

_There was a collective gasp, shocked and high-pitched enough to garner more than a few curious looks. "The Aum Shinri-kyo?" someone cried. "Aleph..." whispered another. _

_"That's right," Nokoru said. "The man whose cult was responsible for the poison gas attacks of 1994 and 1995. He had this blade for a short while; in fact, it was listed among his possessions when he started his cult years ago. But then, he filed a police report that it had been stolen - and i__t wasn't found again until the illustrious matriarch of the Kanpai family passed away." He paused for effect. "There it was, among her heirlooms - and she was so afraid of the curse that she wouldn't even touch it herself. Blaming it for all the evil dreams she'd been having, she called for the police to take it away!"_

Now, two weeks later, Akira crept through the hallway toward the knife in question. He could see it up ahead, well-lighted and guarded. The knife in question looked utterly harmless through the display glass. Ryusuke, naturally, was with them.

"Careful, men," the young man was saying, keeping his eyes peeled directly on the entrance Akira had not chosen to use. "He'll come through. Just you wait and see... he'll come."

Perfect. Just where he wanted them. Checking his watch again, Akira plugged both ears and waited for the inevitable.

A series of small explosions suddenly rocked the floor beneath them.

Ryusuke gasped. "What the..." Smoke, rancid and thick, began to pour from the airvents around the room. Gagging, Ryusuke was thrilled. it's HIM!" he cried, and completely sure of his conviction, tore toward the display case.

Unfortunately, he could no longer see.

Within moments, the police and their helper were all stumbling into one another, completely blinded by the smoke bombs and inadvertantly setting off alarms. 

Akira secured his gasmask and crept quickly over to the display case.

_A lot of funny rumors about you, mister knife, _he thought at it quietly as he disconnected its alarm. Smoothly, he propped the display on its side and switched the contents with something similarly sharp he pulled from his pocket. 

There was a crash behind him, and more alarms went off; it seemed the police were making a mess.

_Well, you've brought SOMEbody bad luck, haven't you?_ he thought with a twinge of guilt, replacing the case and resetting the alarm. Wrapping the blade in a slender strip of leather he'd brought for that purpose, 20 Masks hid the whole thing in his cloak with the dexterity most people applied to tying their shoes. He left the same way he'd come.

The smoke cleared; it left no damage, no acrid smell, no injuries to eyes or lungs. A kind diversion; but Ryusuke still left unsatisfied because 20 Masks had gotten away - even if he had failed to take the simple dagger he was after.

The morning headlines ran the title in bold print: _20 Masks Finally Runs Out of Luck! _Unfortunately, the evening headlines told a different story. 

It had taken the museum workers four hours to clean up the wreckage and provide new display cases for all items; the substitute 20 Masks had left was not looked at terribly closely because the alarm for it had never gone off, and by one o'clock, the room was open again for viewing. 

The reality of the theft was discovered first by an overweight seven-year-old girl the next day, but nobody believed her that the prettyshinything in the glass case was the same letter opener her father had in his office, even though it upset her enough that she burst into tears. One hour later, a pretty school teacher from Kyoto made the same observation and raised the alarm, and naturally, she was believed right away and received all the credit.

The seven year old went home and never forgot the lesson that life was unfair.


	3. Part Three

Things began to go wrong almost as soon as Akira delivered the knife to his mothers. The actual turning over of the blade went without a hitch; it was everything afterward that made him begin to wonder if maybe he were still dreaming.

"Breakfast!" "We want breakfast, hurry, Akira-chan, we're HUNGRY!" 

"Breakfast is coming! I'm working it!" Akira cried from the kitchen, and it was only as he turned to put cheese in the pan for the omlettes that he discovered he was bleeding. "Agh!" he cried, and dropped the tray. Cheese shavings scattered all over the floor, but Akira did not bend right away to pick them up; instead, he peered at his finger, then around on the floor, and then on the counter to try to find what had cut him.

He found nothing.

"Akiraaaaaaaa!" called one of the mothers, spurring him back into motion. Sucking on his injured finger, he scooped the cheese back onto the cutting board and then into the trash. Substituting a paper towel in lieu of a bandage, he quickly shredded some more cheese and made the quickest omlettes he'd ever put together in his life. 

"Here you go, I'm SO sorry they were late, I can't stay any longer or I'll be late, too, I love you, bye!" he extemporized as ran past, thumping up the stairs and to the bathroom quickly as only a rushed nine-year-old can go. Within ten minutes, he'd taken care of his wound, packed his small bag, and hurried out the door - 

And proceeded to trip on _something_ and fall straight down the steps leading to his front door.

"Oh, Akira!" cried both mothers in tandem as they raced toward him; Akira sat blearily upright and tried to see what had tripped him as they came.

"Oh, honey!" "Oh, your poor KNEES!" "We'll take care of this - " "Just leave it in our hands, we'll do what's right -" "You poor THING you don't suppose he's going to die?" "Gangrene and die, that's just what he'll do!" - big breath - "UWAAAAAAAAAH!"

Akira hunched and covered his ears. "Please! Not so loud, I'm FINE - "

"No, you're not!" they wailed, and without further hesitation, dragged him back into the house. 

* * *

Twenty minutes later - and five minutes late - Akira managed to wrench himself free from the dubious maternal efforts of his home life. His left knee dressed in cute little criss-cross bandages and his right index finger wrapped in slightly clumiser gauze, Akira wore a deeply concerned face as he trotted toward class. He watched his feet very, very carefully as he went; but unfortunately, his feet were not the only parts of him having trouble.

In his 8:00 pottery class, he somehow knocked over his turntable - and while trying to rectify that, knocked over another, which smashed into their small kiln. 

The 9:00 meeting with Nokoru and Suoh was uneventful - except for the ink spill that ruined his scoresheet and necessitated a re-calculation of food expenses for the past month.

In 10:00 music class, something he did sent all the Bach motets in the supply cabinet down on his head. 

At 11:00, the cooking class he taught to the sophmore college students went utterly smoothly until the end, when the entire left oven exploded in black smoke.

By 12:00, Akira was bruised, tired, dirty, and exhausted; he dragged into the scheduled lunch with his fellow student council members looking nearly like he was hungover, and it was obvious from the start that he had no interest in the figures presented to him.

Nokoru looked concerned. "Akira? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, student council president," Akira said quietly, and Nokoru pursed his lips.

"Maybe you should go make us some lunch, hm?" he suggested, and Akira perked up; after all, three culinary mishaps in a day were unlikely. Weren't they?

"That's a wonderful idea, student council president! You're always so smart," he beamed. "Do you have any preferences?

"Oh... Italian is always nice," Nokoru beamed back. 

"Yay!" Akira exclaimed.

"Cholesterol," Suoh warned, and Akira hesitated.

"It's a celebration, Suoh. Italian it is," Nokoru decided, and Akira looked thrilled.

"Yay!" he said again, and ran to do his chairman's bidding.

By 12:45, the meal of simple tortellini and sauce was complete.

By 12:50, it was spilled across Nokoru's lap.

Akira was beginning to wonder if he should just go home.

* * *

He ended up staying until nearly dinner time. By nature, Akira was not a quitter; and so, remaining until his full compliment of classes and work were completed was really the only thing he could do. By that time he'd created two more spills and one minor explosion; all of it had been contained and no one was hurt - but Akira was beginning to grow very, very worried. Unwilling to try to cook again today, he conscripted one of his university students to create a lovely French meal and took that home to his mothers.

There were no mishaps on the way home; Akira was beginning to think maybe the madness was over.

"I'm hoooome," he wearily announced as he came in the door; but no one answered him. Puzzled, he shut the door with his foot and trudged into the kitchen to deposit dinner.

"Hello?" he queried; still hearing nothing, he padded down the hall and checked room after room in search of his mothers. 

They weren't anywhere on the first floor; puzzled, he climbed the back staircase to the second. 

"Hellooooo?" he tried again; there was nothing. Frowning, he went to look in the trophy room to see if perhaps they were there.

Now, this was odd; both mothers were - but neither seemed interested in his arrival.

"There you are!" Akira said. "I brought dinner - it's downstairs and I... uh... hello?"

Neither woman looked at him. Focused, they lay stretched on their stomachs with their feet in the air, taking turns petting the dagger Akira had brought that morning.

He stared.

"Hello, Akira-chan," one of them finally said. 

Akira took step closer. "Um... I brought dinner."

Mother B looked at him over her shoulder, her expression filled with things Akira did not know how to name. "Is it yours?"

"I... I oversaw the cooking."

"Then we don't want it," Mother B concluded, and turned back to look at her knife.

Akira didn't know what to say. "M... but... I can put it in the fridge."

"That's fine, Akira-chan," Mother A said, sounding utterly distracted. 

He shifted. "Are... is everything all right?"

"Fine," both mothers answered him at once.

Akira hesitated. "Okay. Well... I'll see you later, I guess. I'm going to my room." He waited another moment, but no one said anything. He sighed; rubbing his temples, he trotted back downstairs to put away the food. 

He spilled half of it before he even reached the refrigerator

"Uwah, what's going ON," Akira bewailed as he cleaned up the mess, putting what was left in the fridge and the rest in the trash can. Not wishing to risk another incident, he retreated to his room and shut the doors, planning not to stir for the rest of the night.

* * *

It was late; Nokoru was tired. But still, he sat at his desk, pouring over papers he'd marked in red, not even noticing when Suoh turned on the overhead light because the outside had grown too dark. An unaccustomed scowl aged his round face.

"Class chairman?" Suoh asked quietly, leaning on the desk.

Nokoru sighed and pushed back from his desk. "We have an interesting problem here, Suoh," he said, frowning at his research. "As you know, 20 Masks has made off with Hisamitsu dagger. And I have no love in my heart for thieves; however...."

Suoh waited for a count of 15, then prompted: "However?"

"However... I do have respect for a man who is a gentleman. I think you can agree, Suoh, that 20 Masks - for all his obvious faults - is a gentleman thief."

"Yes. Okay," Suoh said, really not sure where this line of conversation was going and nervous because of it. "Why is this important, Chairman?"

Nokoru pursed his lips. "Because I think this time, he may have bitten the proverbial bullet and taken more than he can chew."

"Mixed metaphor," Suoh muttered, and was ignored.

"I think, Suoh, that we need to take out an ad in the paper. 'To the infamous and most celebrated 20 Masks: Information which may be relevant to your recent exploits has come to light, and is, in fact, well worth acquisition. In order to receive is, a rendevous within the safety and privacy of a domain of your choosing is suggested.'" 

Suoh scribbled madly, having grabbed his notebook three words into his chairman's speech; not for the first time, he was grateful for his shorthand training. "Anything else, chairman?"

Nokoru paused, considering. "'The life which you enjoy so highly is at stake. Please contact the editor for more information.' I think that will do, don't you, Suoh? Being sure, of course, to give the editor the proper information."

"Does he need a password, sir?" Suoh remarked dryly, pencil still poised over paper.

Nokoru considered. "Yes. Have the editor ask... which item he would have returned, if he could. If the answer is, 'the ice mermaid,' then we have our man. We will await instructions."

Suoh eyed him oddly, then nodded, made a few more notes, before closing his notebook. "This is a little unorthodox, Chairman - even for you. May I ask what, exactly, it is that we're doing?"

Smiling oddly at Suoh, Nokoru began throwing putting his papers into a manilla folder. "I have reason to believe that the Hisamitsu dagger is cursed. Not like the fabled Hope Diamond or the gold of the Nibelungs; this one, my dear Suoh... may be real."

Suoh was trying to keep his left eye from twitching. "And... we're going to warn 20 Masks."

"Yes." Nokoru folded his fingers over his stomach and regarded the ceiling. "'It is a far, far better thing I do now than I have ever done- ' so goes the quote, Suoh. I think we will not regret doing this good deed; my instinct tells me so." 

Suoh sighed, resigned. "Very well, Chairman. Let me get you home safely before I go to the newspaper with this ad."

Nokoru eyed him and grinned. "So the sooner I'm home, the sooner it goes to the paper, hm? All right. Fair enough, Suoh; I thank you for your help." 

* * *

Nokoru was home by 9:30pm; Suoh had the article to the editor of the _CLAMP Daily Times_ by 10:00; and by that time, Akira was already in bed in that kind of deep, heavy sleep that can only come from exhaustion.

Upstairs, Mothers A and B finally put the dagger away for the night, locking it carefully in a glass case before leaving - although they were hesitant to leave at all. And in the darkness of the trophy room, the moon shone through the skylight and lit the dagger as though it were still a showpiece in a museum. Behind it and through the glass, the moonlight cast its shadow on the wall. 

And by itself, the shadow moved. Stretching, widening, it twisted its way down the hall like blackened mercury. Within a few moments, it had curved around the doorway and stretched far enough that it literally snapped free of the dagger, leaving it shadowless.

Moving in alternated bunched and slender form, the freed shadow slid up the hallway like an macabre worm, shifting determinedly until it came to Akira's room. Suddenly darting with a purpose, it disappeared into the shadow beneath his bed.

Akira gasped softly; clenching the blankets in his fingers and sweating as he slept, he tossed and turned as if plagued by dreams far darker than his own imagination could produce. 


	4. Part Four

The newspaper editor was named Zuuto Asasho, and he was having a _miserable_ day. 

It wasn't enough that last-minute changes came from the owner of the paper, not to be rejected under any circumstances and delivered by the most grim ten-year-old he'd ever seen. It wasn't enough that he'd now been trusted with an absurd password, and told to await the arrival of the most famed thief of the decade and to turn away imposters with absolute aplomb. No, the worst part of all was the one he wrestled wtih now; without a doubt, the very last straw was the costume. It was rather fortunate, he thought, that his staff knew him well enough not to laugh. 

Fine. These people wanted him to do this thing for them? FINE. He'd do it, all right - but he'd do it in a way that they would never forget and would make him feel almost 100% better. If not for the Zorro mask, that was.

* * *

Akira had never been so glad for a Saturday. Sleepy, still limping slightly, he rose from his bed and padded down the stairs in stocking feet, absently clutching his stuffed bear to his side and rubbing his eyes with one fist. His mothers were nowhere to be seen, but somehow that did not surprise him. He knew where they'd be: in the room with that horrible, horrible knife.

Sniffling a little for the hardness of the world, Akira went to the door and fetched the newspaper. Then, with one foot over the mantle, he froze.

The headline was huge: MYSTERIOUS HERO CALLS OUT 20 MASKS!

"...oh, no," Akira said softly, and unfolded the front page. The article was brief, for all its headline-status. _The life which you enjoy so highly is at stake. Please contact the editor for more information. _That had the chairman all over it, somehow, but Akira could not for the life of him understand why he was being contactd in this way. Could it have to do with the knife?

Akira closed the front door behind him and gazed up the stairs. He could hear his mothers up there, speaking in strange, too-smooth tones presumably to the knife, and he began to feel the first real stab of fear. Taking a deep, slow breath, he picked up the phone extension in the living room and dialed.

* * *

"Asasho, Clamp Campus Newspaper. What is it?" 

Akira couldn't blame the man for his rudeness; if his day had been anything like Akira's own, rudeness was the safest reaction. "I am calling about the headline today regarding 20 Masks."

The man on the other end grumbled. "You too, huh? Great, now kids are into it... okay, okay, fine. I'm supposed to ask you this question - you don't get it right, and this converesation is over. Understand?"

Fear washed through Akira's soul. "Yes, sir, I understand."

HIs politeness had a slightly soothing effect. "All right, kid, here it is," said the beleaguered editor, no longer quite so gruff. "Of all the things that you've taken over the years... which one would you have returned, if you could?"

For just one second, at the beginning, the question stumped him. Over the years? But Akira's father had been 20 Masks BEFORE he had - what if it were an item that had been stolen years and years before - 

...would have returned, if you could... 

No. There was only one answer to that. Akira's heart was heavy with it and, he suspected, might never shed that weight. "The Ice Mermaid," he said softly, without hesitation. 

It was Asasho's turn to be stumped. "Ah - yes, that's right. Well, then; here you go. Er - where do you want to meet them?"

Them? Now Akira was sure it was the chairman's doing. Well, there was no time like the present. Quickly, he relayed the info to the editor, then hurried off to change his clothes. 

* * *

Nokoru had never been a very patient boy, especially when it came to waiting; in fact, Suoh could safely say that Nokoru was worse at waiting than anyone he'd ever known, not even barring infants.

Perhaps that was why the chairman's stolid silence was unnerving him.

Nokoru stood as the wind from the park rustled his hair with sakura-scented fingers, staring off into the distance as though looking for answers. Whatever answer it was, he didn't seem to find it; his eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed, lips pursed, and Suoh had the sudden, strange feeling that all the chairman needed was a Deerstalker cap and pipe to complete his image.

"I think I've just figured something out, Suoh," said the chairman in pensive tones, but before Suoh could answer, 20 Masks arrived.

His advent was not nearly as flashy as Suoh had been afraid it would be. There were no balloons, no fireworks, no monstrous explosions from the plumbing underground. 20 Masks was simply THERE; with such silence and stealth that even Suoh, with his ninja training, was mildly impressed. 

Mildly.

"Hello, my friends," said 20 Masks in a smooth voice; and something about him - something was... familiar? No; Suoh couldn't place it. He did not know this man.

"Assuming, of course," replied the chairman with a cat-like smile, "that we ARE your friends."

"We career criminals take friendship wherever we can get it, my friend," answered the thief, and he bowed. "There is no reason for vulgar hostility."

Suoh nearly laughed; such high-handed words from a pilferer! But Nokoru seemed to blossom under the formalities, and only smiled more broadly.

"Indeed. Well, to that end, I believe I have information that you need very dearly."

"So you said." The thief smiled. "Pray, continue."

Suoh resisted the urge to sigh and rub his temples. Dear kami, this could go on for ages....

Nokoru did not waste words. He simply handed a sheet of paper to the thief, who looked at it for a decent amount of time before saying anything. He was clearly too intelligent to read it that slowly; Suoh guessed whatever was on there simply took time to process. 

"This is true?"

"All true, friend," replied Nokoru with no trace of a smile now. "I rather thought you'd like to know."

"I don't see any, ah - solution given therein," murmured the thief, folding the paper carefully and hiding it somewhere in his jacket.

Nokoru bowed. "That, my friend, is up to you."

The thief sighed and bowed as well. "I had a feeling you would say that, good sir. Is there anything else?"

"Never," replied Nokoru genteely with a twinkle in his eye.

"Very well. Farewell - both you and your silent bodyguard." And with that, the thief left; simply melting back into the shadows that had birthed him, making no more noise than Suoh would have done himself. Suoh wondered, for a moment, if a man that talented might pose a threat toward Nokoru - but there would be time for that later. 

"Are we finished here?" he growled to Nokoru in a stern whisper, and the chairman nodded. Taking his arm, Suoh directed his charge back to the street, to the waiting limo, and away. No more wandering around for the chairman, not tonight.

And in the shadows, Akira leaned against a tree and tried to keep his heart from beating completely through his throat. 

This list... this information... was horrible. There was no other word for it; it was simply, completely horrible. 

Death upon death.

Suicides.

Murders.

Families breaking apart. Marriages, siblings, parents and children - 

Cousins wrestling to their deaths and lovers thrusting one another into the cold hands of merciless gravity rather than allowing the knife to pass on to someone else - 

...this had to be stopped. Whatever the problem was, however it worked - that horrible, cursed blade HAD to be stopped.

Akira had no idea why it had not affected him; he certainly had no desire to touch it, own it, or even spit at it from a distance. However, touch it he would have to now; it was time to give the thing back, no matter what the cost. 

For the first time that night, Akira wondered if his answer of "The Ice Mermaid" might just have been wrong. 


End file.
